Humanum Luna
by Caeva
Summary: Stiles never considered himself extraordinary. Never once wanted to be anything other than his regular, human self. He was never meant to be a werewolf, but perhaps he was always meant to walk by the werewolf's side. To be a source of strength. Almost like a... [STEREK]
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Teen Wolf. All characters, except for any original characters I might add to this piece of fanfiction, belongs to MTV. (Lord knows if I owned Teen Wolf, Sterek would've been canon since the very beginning.)

I'll just admit right off the bat that the main theme of this fic isn't very original. It's been done before. Many times. If you're expecting literary brilliance and a mind-blowing storyline from me, you'll be disappointed. This is just one of those regular slashfics where something supernatural happens that brings two men together in a series of very passionate encounters. Oh, and teenage angst. Lots of it.

What I'm trying to say is: if you're on the look-out for the next award-winning piece of literature, you're in the wrong place, buddy. This is going to be _messy_. I like messy. Messy is good.

Rated **M** for sexual content and violence. (And cussing.)  
Pairing: Sterek (Derek + Stiles)  
Setting: Beacon Hills, after season 5, senior year.  
 **Warnings:**  
1\. Author pretending to know shit about psychology when she really only took a course in high school. (I did get an A, though, so I'm not _entirely_ clueless.)  
2\. Slight OOC behavior (which, to be fair, is super difficult to avoid when writing about something that's not canon).

Let's get started.

Chapter 1  
 **Nightmares  
**

* * *

The fog didn't even become him as he dashed through the forest, cheeks stinging from the cold and from the small twigs he kept running into. Stiles wasn't sure if he was running towards something, or away from something. He just knew he had to keep running.

 _The strength is within you._

Stiles jumped over a large rock with ease and landed perfectly on his feet. The stunt tipped him off. No way in hell was he that agile in real life. He was dreaming.

 _You are the key. Find the lock._

Yep, definitely dreaming. The female voice that kept whispering irritatingly cryptic messages was eerily similar to his late mother's, and that made him deeply uncomfortable.

 _The strength is within you. Don't let them steal it._

Let who steal it?

Stiles wanted to open his mouth and ask, but found himself unable to speak. It was as if his lips had been sealed shut with glue. Upon realizing this, a sting of panic started to stir below his ribcage. The sense of being air-deprived intensified as he tried breathing deeper with his nose, but it was as if the oxygen in the air was running out. His eyes started to blur.

Stiles gave a muffled whimper of fearful desperation as he glimpsed back, convinced now that he was indeed being chased. Maybe it was the panic messing with his head, but he swore that the branches behind him reached out like wolf claws, grappling at him as he rushed by. Stiles wanted to scream now. Call out for help. He didn't even know where he was. He turned his gaze back ahead and stopped dead in his tracks as he found himself staring straight into a pair of red glowing eyes.

" _Fuck!_ " Stiles yelled out in shock, sat up and realized, to his immense relief, that he'd finally awoken from the nightmare. It took him more than a few minutes to calm down, however. The image of red eyes still danced in front of his blurry vision and he tried blinking it away, to no avail.

Still shaking slightly from the adrenaline rush he'd just experienced, Stiles managed to get up and stumble towards his small bathroom. He flicked the lights on and studied his reflection in the mirror. Despite how real it had felt, his unscathed cheeks proved that the dream had really only been that.

Was it normal to feel pain in dreams, though? He was pretty sure that it wasn't.

Stiles scowled and turned the water tap on, feeling a strong urge to wash himself off a little bit before heading back to bed. Get some of the cold sweat off.

Approximately one year prior, just before he was possessed by the _nogitsune_ , he'd been experiencing a series of dreams that he could only describe as hellish hallucinations. He recalled just how terrifying that had been - especially not knowing whether or not he was awake. That was the truly terrifying part.

But this was different. Stiles would always realize, at some point, that he was dreaming. He never confused reality with his recurring dreams. Because they _were_ recurring dreams - every night for over a week - with only slight differences each time. The woman didn't always speak to him, for instance. Sometimes she'd sing nonsensical words instead. Sometimes she never even made herself known. And sometimes Stiles never reached those red eyes.

He recalled, with a shiver, one particularly nasty version of the nightmare, in which he'd kept on running deeper into the forest until he found himself completely engulfed in darkness, so dark that he couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. So dark that even the stars in the sky had been devoured by the black. And he'd known, as he stood there in the compact dark, that he wasn't alone. Someone, _something_ , had been watching him.

Stiles made a face and shook his head, trying to chase the unsettling images away. If he was going to stand any chance at getting a few more hours of sleep before he had to get up for school, reliving scenes from a nightmare he'd had over a week ago wasn't going to help.

He needed happy thoughts. Thoughts of puppies and his favorite computer game and the incredibly lame joke his dad told him last night.

 _"Stiles, what does an annoying pepper do?"_

 _"I don't know dad. What does an annoying pepper do?"_

 _"... It gets jalapeño face!"_

The sheriff's face had already been red with barely contained laughter as he'd delivered the punch line, only to immediately break down in a fit of wheezing giggles, and Stiles couldn't help but to laugh at the sheer lameness of the joke. The sheriff was so easy to amuse.

The memory made Stiles smile and after washing his face, he went back to bed, feeling a bit more relaxed. He yawned and turned over on his side.

"They're only dreams, Stiles," he told himself firmly and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself. "Dreams can't hurt you."

Eventually, Stiles drifted off into a somewhat tense, but blissfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski peered up from his cereal as Stiles entered the kitchen the following morning. Stiles was in a piss mood and couldn't muster up the energy to greet his old man. He'd woken up with a mean crick in his neck from sleeping in a strange position and felt sore all over.

He pulled out a bowl with an irritated sigh and scoured the cabinets for his own favorite brand of breakfast müsli.

"You're perky," his dad commented with a huff of laughter. Stiles only sent him an annoyed glare in response and went back to pouring müsli into his bowl. "Wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of-"

A sudden surge of anger welled up in Stiles and he slammed his hand against the counter to silence the older man.

"Dad! Just... Not right now, okay?" Stiles said and sat down by the table without looking at his father. "Seriously not in the mood for your obnoxiously energetic morning personality."

"... Fine," the sheriff replied, but maintained a strangely amused smile as he opened up the morning paper and skimmed through the contents. He seemed to think Stiles was throwing some kind of petulant teenage tantrum. It irritated Stiles, but he wasn't about to tell his dad what was actually going on.

"I don't understand what's so good about mornings anyway," Stiles grumbled and poured yogurt over the mix of oats and berries. "Fucking brutal."

"Language," the sheriff warned in a sing-song voice, without taking his eyes off the newspaper that took up more than half of their table. Stiles ate his breakfast in silence, but the müsli he normally enjoyed tasted more like wet paper tissues than anything else. He put the spoon down with a sigh and directed his gaze at the paper his father was reading. Reading the title of the article upside down, he made out "Two bodies found near highway - animal attacks increasing?"

Stiles stopped breathing and felt a knot tighten in his stomach as the words sank in. _Animal attacks_? Not likely. Not in Beacon Hills. Did Scott know about this?

"Stiles?"

He looked up and met his father's concerned gaze.

"What?" His voice was oddly raspy. It made the worried wrinkle on his dad's forehead deepen.

"You okay, son? You've barely touched your breakfast."

Stiles nodded and tried acting normal, even going so far as to try and smile - which ended up looking a stiff parody of his usually relaxed grin. The sheriff did not look convinced.

"Yeah, sure," Stiles said and cleared his throat. "Just not very hungry. Didn't sleep well."

"Yeah," the sheriff nodded, stood up and made for their coffee brewer. His movements were a bit slower than normal, as if he was just trying to buy time. "You... You seem to be having some pretty vivid dreams."

Stiles gaped at him and suddenly felt a bit violated.

"You heard me last night?"

"Actually, I've heard you every night this week," the sheriff admitted and sent his son a curious glance over his shoulder. As Stiles expression turned into one of mortified horror, the sheriff turned around to face his son and leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You've been sleep talking a lot lately. At first, I thought I should wake you up when it happens, because frankly," the sheriff said and raised an eyebrow at Stiles, "it's pretty unsettling when you start rambling about keys and locks and eyes, but I read somewhere that waking you up right in the middle of a dream might just confuse you and do more harm than good. So I've let you be. Just haven't found the time to mention it until now. Mind telling me what those dreams are about?"

"Yes, I mind," Stiles muttered and got up, grabbed his bowl and shoved it into their sink with unnecessary force. "And they aren't dreams. They're nightmares."

The sheriff gave a confused scowl.

"Nightmares? You don't sound particularly scared, though. From what I've gathered, you sound more like you're searching for something."

"Well, I guess you'll just have to take my word for it." Stiles shrugged his backpack on and made for the door.

"Son, wait!" The sheriff placed his large hand on Stiles' shoulder and turned him around. Stiles kept his eyes down, unable to look at his father. "I didn't mean to keep quiet about this. I just thought this was one of those times when you'd prefer me to stay out of it. But it's been going on for a while now, and I'm getting worried. I can't help hearing you when you start shouting, though. We live in the same house. You understand that, right?"

"I get it, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it," Stiles grumbled and squirmed away from his father's hand. They stood in silence for a few seconds. It was uncomfortable. Stiles couldn't take it. "I'll be late for school. Bye."

He left the house before his dad could stop him again and jogged down the street, desperately wanting to get away. The fact that his dad had heard him talk in his sleep was unsettling. Like realizing that someone had been reading his diary - only he didn't keep one.

Stiles eventually slowed down and struggled to catch his breath. His body still ached and he could feel a headache coming on. Jogging whilst sleep deprived had not been a good idea. He stopped briefly to massage his scalp before continuing the walk to school. He'd have to ask the school nurse for some aspirin if the headache got any worse.

Stiles was immensely sick of constantly aching. As if having nightmares in which he could somehow feel pain wasn't enough - the pain followed him even after he woke up.

The crick in his neck hadn't loosened up yet. He cursed silently under his breath and envied Scott's super abilities to heal more than ever before.

As the image of Scott popped up before his inner vision, so did Scott's red eyes. Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to sort through his thoughts, despite the throb that made it feel like his entire head was pulsating.

Those damned red eyes. He kept seeing them in his nightmares. Not every night, but often enough for Stiles to understand that they were of some importance. And Stiles only knew one alpha. What the hell was Scott doing in his nightmares?

Unless, of course, the nightmares were influenced by bad memories. There had been other alphas in the past. Alphas that weren't quite as friendly as Scott McCall. Like Peter Hale.

But Peter had lost his alpha powers, Stiles reminded himself, and wasn't an issue any longer. Why would he be guest starring in Stiles' nightmares?

Then there was Deucalion, who was still a bit of a riddle to Stiles. The man had some pretty weird ideas about what it meant to be an alpha. But the last time Deucalion had made an appearance, he hadn't posed any threat - quite the contrary - and Stiles sincerely doubted he'd show up to try and suddenly try to maim him. Stiles was merely human, and Deucalion was only ever interested in alphas.

So unless those red eyes belonged to Scott, who the hell did they belong to?

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a motorcycle driving up next to him on the road. The driver pulled his helmet off and sent a crooked grin Stiles' way.

"Want a lift?" Scott asked and held his helmet out to Stiles.

"Dude," Stiles said and quirked an eyebrow. "Let's be honest - the idea of me sitting back there and hugging you from behind freaks us both out. So, no thanks. I have enough nightmares as it is."

Scott laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Be that way." He got off the bike and walked up to Stiles with the kind of expression that told Stiles that he was about to receive some kind of pep talk. Suppressing an irritated twinge in his chest, Stiles gritted his teeth and allowed it. "Still having nightmares?" Scott asked and gave Stiles a look that was probably meant to convey concerned support, as he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder, much like his dad had done just five minutes ago.

"Yes," he replied and put his own hand on Scott's shoulder with a slightly exaggerated version of the concerned scowl Scott featured. "But Scott. I'll live. Don't be scared. I'll never leave you."

Scott's concerned expression quickly morphed into a guilty one and he removed his hand.

"Sorry," he said and scratched the back of his head. "I did it again, huh?"

"Big time," Stiles said and crossed his arms over his chest with an amused smirk. "But hey, it does make me feel loved and appreciated. Belittled and patronized, yes. But loved."

"Habit," Scott sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Or should I say, occupational hazard?"

"Being an alpha is a lot like being a dad, huh?" Stiles laughed and put his hands in his pockets, adopting a more relaxed stance.

"You laugh, but it's not that far from the truth," Scott groaned. "Liam has been going through some shit lately and I've talked to him about the way he's been acting but he won't listen and I'm scared he'll end up doing something stu-"

"Scott, may I remind you that I'm not one of your betas?" Stiles pointed out and gave Scott a patient smile. "You really don't have to take care of me. You have enough to worry about, and I don't need your shoulder to cry on."

"Not a beta, but you're still my best friend," Scott retorted, almost looking a bit hurt. "Of course I worry. You don't sleep, you barely eat. You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks," Stiles deadpanned. Scott went on, playfulness twinkling in his eyes, apparently intent on teasing Stiles into a good mood.

"No, really, you look awful. Like a big pile of garbage. Like a zombie about to deteriorate-"

"Scott."

Scott laughed and threw an arm around Stiles' shoulders, unfortunately unaware of the crick in Stiles' neck. The surge of pain was instant and intense, it felt like the tendons in his neck were about to snap, and Stiles reacted before he had time to think about it.

"Get off!" He growled and shoved Scott away violently before bringing a hand up to the aching area with a pained wince. After massaging his neck for a few seconds, bringing the level of pain back to the dull throb he was actually able to handle, he carefully glanced at Scott who looked shocked and hurt. "Shit... I'm sorry."

"What happened? Did I hurt you?" Scott asked, worry evident in his voice. Stiles really did feel like a pile of garbage now. Scott checked his hands to make sure his claws weren't out and Stiles shook his head carefully.

"No... Well, actually you kind of did, but don't worry. I slept in a weird position and this spot is still pretty sore," Stiles gestured to the area, "so... you kind of pressed the red button for a sec there," he explained with a pained smile. Scott looked immensely relieved upon hearing this, but quickly adopted a more sympathetic look.

"I can take the pain, if you want me to," Scott offered and extended a hand towards Stiles, who held up his own hand in rejection to the offer.

"For a crick in the neck? Scott, we talked about this." Stiles gave Scott a careful glance and tried really hard not to sound too vexed when he continued. "You don't need to whip out your wolf powers at any given moment. Save it for when it's actually necessary."

Lately, Scott had made it into a (bad) habit to continuously offer his help, offer to take someone else's pain, even when it came to ridiculous things like paper cuts and stubbed toes. In conclusion, Scott was a bit too heroic. Stiles didn't like it.

Pain was part of being human, wasn't it? Yes, it sucked and yes, he wished the pain would go away - but letting Scott take it from him every single time he got a boo-boo just didn't seem right.

"Okay," Scott said, briefly looking like a puppy who just got yelled at, "Well, do you want to stop by my house after school? My mom may be able to get rid of it for you in a totally _un-supernatural_ way," Scott said and gave Stiles a knowing smile.

"Nah, I promised dad I'd go straight home today," Stiles lied, not wanting to admit that he simply didn't feel like hanging out after school. The sleep deprivation was taking a toll on him. "Midterms are coming up. I should study."

"Yeah," Scott agreed with a slow nod. "I still can't believe we're going to college next fall," he said, expression tense, "I suddenly regret not spending more time on my homework last year."

"Grades do matter, Scotty," Stiles said with a satisfied sigh, knowing full well that he was doing much better than his friend when it came to academic achievements. "I've been telling you that since middle school."

"No, your _dad_ has been telling the _both of us_ that," Scott corrected with a disheartened grimace of a smile. "Only one of us took him seriously."

"Well, you still have nearly eight months to do something about it," Stiles said and gave Scott an encouraging pat on the back. "In fact, you should start working on it right away. Get your ass to school, alright? I'll meet you there in ten."

"Sure you don't want a ride? Because I'm totally cool w-"

"Scott," Stiles interrupted and looked straight into Scott's confused eyes with a stern expression. "Hugging. From. Behind."

The two boys stared grimly at one another for a few seconds.

"You're right, it's too weird," Scott agreed eventually and made an odd face, probably trying to imagine the scenario. Stiles nodded and gently steered Scott towards his rugged bicycle.

"I'll meet you there, okay?"

"Okay." Scott put his helmet back on and straddled the bike. "Outside the cafeteria. You clearly need coffee."

"Fine," Stiles agreed. Scott's bike came alive with a roar that made Stiles' headache return full force. He waved at his friend's back as the other teen drove away and waited until Scott had rounded a corner before he shot his hands up to rub at his scalp again.

After a few seconds of desperately trying to sooth the pain, Stiles gave up and started walking. The headache, combined with his lack of sleep and the fact that he was eating less than a toddler these days was making him feel a bit nauseated.

He couldn't help but to laugh, despite the circumstances. As if he wasn't suffering enough as it was. Throw in some nausea, why dontcha. It was just so fucking typical.

"Well, things can't possibly get any worse now," he sighed.

Stiles would soon come to regret those words.

* * *

Derek took a deep breath and relished in the familiar scents that surrounded his old family home. What remained of the Hale house was a pitiful sight. Blackened bricks and burnt pieces of wood were still scattered across what had once been their back yard. Of the actual house structure remained nothing. Not even the foundation. All he saw was a huge square of fresh cement, upon which a new house would be built eventually. He noticed that several trees had been cut down, too. Probably to make room for even more houses. Derek made a face and turned away from the sight.

He hated what it had become. Hated the painful memories. And yet, he'd somehow wanted to visit. The smell of pine trees and forest creeks reminded him of his childhood.

"Home, sweet home," he sighed and shoved his hands down his pockets, kicking a pine cone out of the way as he made his way back into the forest. As much as he would've liked to stay for a while longer and reflect on his past (and maybe to take a defiant piss on the not-entirely-dry cement), Derek had more urgent matters to tend to.

He inhaled deep and closed his eyes in order to sort through the many scents he picked up until he found the one he was looking for. His instincts reached out for it, grabbed hold of it, and assessed the direction of it.

As he opened his eyes, it was as if he could see the scent in the air. Like a colored ribbon amongst other ribbons. He scowled bitterly as he realized he'd been right. The source of the scent was indeed heading straight for Beacon Hills.

"Shit," Derek murmured and started running.

He needed to find Scott before they did.

TBC.

* * *

Only a little more than 4000 words?! Man, it felt like much more than than. I guess I'm a bit rusty. My chapters tend to get longer as the story progresses, though. Consider yourselves warned.

Anyway, that was a pretty decent start, no? Hope you enjoyed. Chapter 2 will be up as soon as I can be bothered to write it. (Which really shouldn't take too long.) Feedback is highly appreciated, but I'm also sensitive as fuck, so be gentle.


	2. Chapter 2

(Super quick AU: The morning after I published chapter 1, I woke up with a severe crick in my neck. Not kidding. It freaked me out more than I care to admit.)

Chapter 2  
Reunions

* * *

Stiles had been feeling off all day. Not surprising, considering the crappy morning he'd had, and the crick in his neck was only getting worse. Stiles had burned himself on the coffee Scott insisted to buy for him earlier that day, and to top it all off, he'd fallen asleep during chem class. Lydia had woken him up with a not-so-gentle swat to the back of his head.

"You were talking in your sleep," she'd said and given him a wide-eyed look. "I figured you didn't want anyone else to hear you."

Her explanation came like a punch to his gut.

Stiles never asked if she'd caught anything of what he'd been saying. It was bad enough that his dad had been catching unbidden glimpses of his nightmares. Add Lydia to that exclusive club and Stiles would be just about ready to change his identity and move to Utah.

He'd managed to survive the day and the only thing remaining before he could finally head back home was lacrosse training - which he _really_ wasn't up for.

The sleep deprivation constantly made itself known through sudden bursts of head aches, stinging eyes and dizziness. Scott had given him extremely worried looks all day (when he thought Stiles wasn't looking) and he didn't want to add to Scott's concern, having spent most of the morning trying to convince his best friend was he was fine.

And yet, somehow, he wanted to attend practice. Get his mind off the nightmares that had been haunting him. Possibly release some pent up aggression.

It was with a heavy heart and even heavier steps that Stiles made his way to the boys' locker room, where most of the other team members were already changing into their gear. Scott was there, too, and brightened up when he spotted Stiles at the door.

"I thought you weren't coming," he said with a relieved smile. "You've been kind of down today. Are you o-"

"For the last time, Scott," Stiles sighed and put his bag down with unnecessary force, "I'm fine."

"I can see that," the other boy replied dryly. "How many hours of sleep did you get last night anyway?" Scott asked, but seemed to regret having asked when Stiles gave him a dark look. "Dude, it's just a question," he defended himself.

"I don't know. Two?"

"Two?!"

"Maybe three." Stiles shrugged and attempted a casual glance at Scott. The other boy looked appalled and Stiles looked away, deciding instead to open up his bag and take out his shorts and shoes. "... Scott, don't look at me like that. I'm _fine_."

"How can you possibly be fine?" Scott hissed, tactful enough to at least lower his voice. "Three hours is _nothing_ , Stiles! If my mom was here, she'd force you to take a nap right here and now!"

"Well then, I guess it's a good thing she's not here," Stiles drawled and started changing out of his regular clothes. Scott just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "I don't see what the big deal is," Stiles went on, despite sensing that he should've just stayed quiet and let Scott work it out for himself. "At least I actually _got_ some sleep."

Scott's eyes widened slightly and Stiles realized he'd made a mistake.

"Yeah, that's terrific," Scott's voice was trembling a little. He was getting upset and Stiles found it even more difficult to look at him. "I know you've been having these nightmares for a while now," Scott continued and ducked his head in front of Stiles to get him to meet his gaze. "This is verging on insomnia, Stiles."

"Your point?" Stiles knew he was being a dick. He didn't like being a dick. But Scott was being overbearing and it pissed him off.

"My point is, you should go home and rest! We don't have another game for several weeks, so it's not like you'll-"

"No." Stiles shook his jersey out of the bag and held it up in front of him, scrutinizing the front of it with unnatural concentration - purposely avoiding Scott's dumbfounded stare.

"... No?" Scott repeated. Stiles couldn't help glancing his way. An irritated scowl was rapidly forming on Scott's normally kind face. "What do you mean 'no'? You're in no shape for lacrosse right now! Stiles, if you keep this up-"

"What?" Stiles interrupted, threw his jersey on top of his open bag and gave Scott an angry glare. "What, Scott? If I keep this up, what'll happen? It's been over two weeks, and still nothing's changed. Nothing's happened. For all we know, I might just be going insane here."

"Stiles..." Scott looked like he wasn't sure what to say. Stiles responded by pulling off his t-shirt and, with a defiant glare to his best friend, reaching for the lacrosse jersey.

"Scott, I get it. I know I look like shit. I know you're worried. But damnit," he huffed and shook his head slightly, gazing downwards. "I need this. I need to go to school and practice and do my homework like everything's normal. What's the alternative? Go home and lay on my bed? Try to _sleep_?" Stiles scoffed and put his jersey on with stiff movements. Once the shirt was on, he paused. Afforded a careful look at Scott, who was still scowling at him with horrified concern.

Stiles decided he needed to appease the other boy. Couldn't handle that scowl. Didn't like other people worrying over him.

"Scott," he continued, tone much softer than before. "We don't even know what's wrong with me. We don't know why I keep having those nightmares." Stiles took a step closer and put his hand on Scott's tense shoulder. "Until we _do_ know, I'd like to at least pretend everything's fine. Can you let me do that?"

Scott stared at him, an anxious wrinkle still present on his forehead, and eventually nodded slowly.

"Fine," Scott pressed out through gritted teeth. Stiles attempted a grateful smile, but it faltered when Scott continued. "But don't think for a second that I won't be keeping my eyes on you," he said, jaw pulsating with tension. "I will send you home if I think it's necessary. If you so much as _stumble_ out there. I don't care what you say. I'm not going to stand by and watch you crash and burn just because you want to pretend everything's fine when it's clearly _not_."

Scott grabbed his crosse and made for the door. Stiles gave his back a crooked smile.

"And if I refuse? You'll drag me home by your claws?" He joked and was slightly taken aback when Scott looked back at him, eyes glowing with withheld anger.

" _Count_ on it."

* * *

The sky had taken on a slightly pink shade, signaling the approaching evening, even though it was still only half past four. Derek looked around helplessly on the street where he'd lost track of the trail. He took a deep breath through his nose, desperately trying to find the scent again, see the crimson ribbon, but couldn't.

Asphalt, grass, pipe tobacco from the old man sitting on the bench by the park, melted cheese from the pizzeria further down the street...

The scent that carried that odd mixture of deer blood, spices and incense wasn't there. Like it had suddenly evaporated. How was that even possible?

"Shit," Derek spat and dragged a hand across his face. He'd been following them for several weeks, hundreds of miles, only to lose track of them _now_? It was as if they'd known all along and were now taunting him.

Derek still didn't know what they were up to. Not the details, anyway. Making an educated guess, however, Derek was fairly sure that the group was after Scott. He didn't know why, when or how. All he knew was that they were dangerous.

Derek racked his brain, trying to remember. What had they been talking about that night?

Foggy, blurred images popped up before his inner vision. Derek closed his eyes and focused.

Boston, two weeks prior. Night. Susan's bar. Derek was on his fourth beer when the odd scent of the group suddenly alerted his senses.

Susan's bar was frequently visited by wolves and other non-human species. They shouldn't have stood out the way they did, but Derek's instincts rarely failed him.

Three males, two females. All alphas.

They'd been sitting in a corner, two tables away from him, discussing matters that Derek didn't understand. Gibberish. Nature magic. Stuff that would've made him roll his eyes under normal circumstances. But for some reason, the group caught his attention.

 _"The stones don't lie, Philip,"_ one of the females insisted. _"He's in California. You dragged us all the way here and you were, of course, wrong. We killed a kid for nothing. Thanks to you, we ended up on the wrong side of the whole fucking country. Time for you to listen to me."_

 _"Don't test my patience, Vanessa,"_ one of the males said, voice low and threatening. What he said next was drowned out by the sound of loud laughter from one of the men sitting by the bar, flirting with the bartender, and Derek sent the man an irritated look. It took a few seconds for him to once more tune into the conversation two tables away.

 _"-you're saying, but it's not too late! I can sense it,"_ the other female said, voice eager. _"He hasn't bonded yet. The gate is still open. But we need to hurry!"_

 _"Remember, the timing's essential,"_ one of the males said calmly, _"The full moon will give us the power we need. If we rush the process and try to force it without the moon's help, it won't work. He might die."_

 _"And in the process, we might lose our alpha powers,"_ said the first male, Philip, with an impatient sigh. _"We know what the legend says, Marcus."_

 _"The next full moon is 16 nights from now,"_ said Vanessa. _"We'll make it there in time, no problem."_

 _"Yes, but once we get there, we have to find him first. His scent might be tricky to pinpoint,"_ Marcus pointed out. Derek scowled with confusion. What the hell were they talking about?

 _"We might need a few days to find him,"_ Vanessa agreed.

 _"We'll need more than a few days if we're going to search through all of California,"_ Philip grumbled.

 _"We won't, you idiot. Once more you underestimate the power of my stones,"_ Vanessa snapped. _"It's around here somewhere,"_ she said and Derek heard the rustle of paper being unfolded - possibly a road map.

 _"... I've never heard of that place,"_ the third unidentified male mumbled. _"Beacon Hills? Like the mountain?"_

Derek's eyes widened at the mention of his home town. What business did they have there?

He wanted to smack himself when he realized who their target was. What other reason could they have?

 _"Idiot,"_ he'd murmured to himself. The group fell silent and Derek tensed up. Did they realize he'd been listening? With a swift motion, he pulled up his cell phone and pretended to text.

He heard the shuffling of chairs being pulled out and casually glanced over his shoulder. The group was leaving. They were wearing hooded jackets, effectively hiding most of their faces as they walked by - except for one of the males who didn't seem to care about hiding his features. He was tall and looked to be around forty. Black hair with silver stripes, combed back in an elegant wave. As the group walked past his booth, the man suddenly locked eyes with Derek, who somehow managed to suppress the shudder that threatened to run up his spine.

The man's eyes were a deep, glowing crimson and Derek was suddenly very aware of his own omega status, resisting the urge to lower his head in submission as the man quietly observed him. Derek felt a soft throb behind his eyes as his irises revealed their icy blue color - a natural response to the unknown alpha's intense gaze.

The few seconds that passed felt like hours and Derek had to physically force himself to avert his gaze and look down at his phone instead, feigning disinterest.

All of a sudden, the alpha snatched Derek's phone from his hands and dunked it into Derek's still half-full glass of beer. The screen flickered helplessly for a few seconds before going black. Derek watched it die, mouth agape. He turned to the alpha with wide eyes.

" _The fuck's your problem, asshole?"_ He spat, quickly deciding that it was better to act like a random omega who didn't know better rather than someone who'd actually been listening to their private conversation. He held the glass up to the other male with an accusing glare _. "You owe me a new phone!"_

The alpha scoffed softly and followed his group out the door without a word. Once they were gone, Derek inhaled deeply, registering their scent.

Following them seemed like a terrible, terrible idea.

"... _I've had worse_ ," Derek concluded and pulled his jacket on before leaving the bar.

Simply following them to Beacon Hills hadn't been too challenging. It had taken the group eleven days and twelve nights. Derek made sure to stay at a safe distance away from them. Hiding his scent as best as he could. They never seemed to catch on.

Now Derek wondered if they'd actually allowed him to come. Maybe they'd known all along? Maybe they'd known ever since that evening in Boston? Derek wasn't an idiot. He understood why the alpha had destroyed his phone that time. It wasn't just a display of dominance. It was so that Derek wouldn't be able to tell anyone what he'd heard, _if_ he'd heard. The unknown alpha had given himself and his crew a head start.

Whether Derek had actually been listening to them or not didn't seem to matter. Clearly, the group wasn't about to take unnecessary risks.

So why had they allowed him to follow them all the way here? If they thought for even a second that he might have connections to the person they were hunting, why would they let him come? As soon as he found Scott, he'd obviously warn him. They must've known that.

"Maybe I'm overthinking this..." Derek mumbled to himself and looked around once more. Maybe the group _hadn't_ realized he was following them. Maybe they simply hadn't been bothered to cover up their scent until they actually reached the town. Scott would know right away if unknown wolves entered Beacon Hills. They were obviously trying to hide.

That's it, Derek told himself and decided to try and find Scott. The group was already in town, that much Derek was certain of, even if he couldn't track them.

He glanced at his watch - 4:38. There was a chance Scott was still at school. Derek decided to start there.

* * *

Stiles hated to admit it, but Scott might've been right about not attending practice. It was idiotic of him to be on the field when his entire body screamed at him to lie down and rest. When his head was throbbing with pain and felt two sizes larger than normal. When light jogging made him want to hurl.

But he'd be damned if he was going to show it. He'd made a big deal out of wanting to be there. Had a fight with Scott over it. Scott had been pissed. Stiles was going to get through practice if it was the last thing he did.

Which, judging by the way his legs trembled with each step, it actually might be.

Stiles gritted his teeth and tightened his grasp on his crosse.

 _Get a grip. You can do this._

"Look alive, Stilinski!" Coach shouted from the bench and waved his hands at Stiles, urging him to start running. They were doing laps and had two more to go. Stiles had two and a half, as he'd stopped briefly to catch his breath, watching absentmindedly as his team members all ran past him.

He started running once more, ignoring the stars he kept seeing, and miraculously made it through the exercise. Force of will. But practice wasn't over and Stiles dreaded the next phase.

They were practicing dive shots. Stiles wasn't good at them and could really use the practice - but dive shots _hurt_. Especially if done incorrectly. Which Stiles tended to do.

Scott seemed to have read his mind when he looked over and gave Stiles a stern look through his cage. Stiles turned away from him and walked over to the other team members. The ground was undulating under Stiles' feet as he positioned himself at the back of the line that had formed in front of the goal.

Coach blew his whistle and the players moved. One by one, they approached the goal by running a half-circle and then diving, swinging their crosses in varying angles, attempting to confuse the goaltender in order to score.

Scott, of course, managed to score and land in an irritatingly gracious manner. As did Liam, though his landing was rougher.

When it was Stiles' turn, his legs felt like two blocks of heavy rock. Jumping was out of the question, as was running. Instead, Stiles compromised by jogging the half-circle, hoping their coach wouldn't berate him for it. As he approached the goal, he struggled to muster up the strength to jump and dive. It hurt. He felt weak. Stiles immensely regretting not taking Scott's advice now.

As he forced his legs to sprint off the ground, Stiles literally felt the last of his energy drain out of him and he fell to the ground with a pained grunt - too exhausted to even swing his crosse. The ball meekly fell out of the net of his crosse as he dropped it on the ground and rolled towards his team members, who stared at him and seemed too shocked to even move. Stiles wasn't the best player on the team, but he wasn't normally this _bad_ either.

"Stiles!"

Scott's voice sounded distant and gurgly, as if they were under water. Stiles blinked rapidly, desperately fighting to stay conscious.

"Stiles, you need to get up," Scott insisted, pulling on his arm. Stiles managed to sit up. The helmet felt like it was about to crush his skull. He pulled it off and took a deep breath. Once he'd regained bit of his balance, he carefully peered at Scott, who looked completely horrified. It made Stiles feel even worse.

"Scott, I-"

"I'm sending you home," Scott said, voice tense. "Go change. Now."

"Scott," Stiles tried again, voice breaking. Scott didn't look at him as he pulled Stiles off the ground and pushed him towards the locker room, making Stiles stumble a bit.

"Coach, I'm taking Stilinski off the field," Scott yelled to the middle aged man, who only nodded and watched the pair walk off with an unreadable expression. Once the two were back inside, Scott proceeded to pull his own jersey off, ignoring the confused look Stiles gave him.

"What are you doing?" He asked, voice low. Scott didn't answer, instead pulling out his jeans and continued to change into his regular clothes. "Scott, why are you getting changed? I can walk home on my own."

"Please," Scott spat and gave Stiles a look that effectively shut Stiles up. "As if you were going to go home after this? I can tell when you're lying to me. You lied to me this morning, and you're lying to me now. So I'm walking you home. You have no say in this."

Stiles stared at the other boy for a few tense seconds before he slowly changed out of his jersey, hissing as his sore muscles protested. Neither of them bothered to shower. Stiles didn't mind. He just wanted to get out of there.

Five minutes later, Stiles was standing outside the lacrosse field and watched from a distance as Scott spoke to their coach, who seemed reluctant to letting Scott go home, but eventually nodded and sent Stiles an odd look through the fence. He averted his gaze, pulled up his hood over his head and shoved his hands deep down into his pockets as he waited for Scott to return.

"Let's go." Scott started walking and didn't look back to make sure Stiles was coming with him. Stiles followed him anyway, but made sure he remained two steps behind. He was in no mood for talking and hoped that Scott would respect that.

They'd been walking in extremely uncomfortable silence for nearly five minutes when Scott abruptly turned around and fixated Stiles with an angry glare.

"Why didn't you listen to me? What's _wrong_ with you? You're supposed to be the smart one in our relationship! Christ, Stiles, you got three hours of sleep! _Three_! That's how long most of my power naps are! This has been going on for almost two weeks! You're not eating, you're not sleeping, you're not doing _anything_ that you're supposed to be doing! And you thought you'd just walk out there and play lacrosse like you're not about to pass out from sleep deprivation? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?"

Scott was panting slightly by the end of his angry rant. Stiles couldn't look at him. Guilt pulsated through him and made him feel small. Smaller than usual.

"I thought-"

"You thought that you'd be fine, I get it," Scott huffed and threw a hand up. "That's what you've been telling us all day long, that you're fine, you're _fine_! Were you trying to convince _us..._ or yourself?"

"I..." Stiles swallowed tightly to make the lump in his throat go away. "I don't know. Okay?"

"No, _not_ okay!" Scott's eyes were wide with worry and fury when Stiles finally managed to meet his gaze. "Stiles, you nearly passed out just now. I told you to go home and rest but you insisted that I should let you practice anyway. So I let you. And what happened?"

"I was wrong," Stiles admitted, feeling a sting of irritation in his chest. "You were right and I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear, Scott?"

"That's not even the point!" Scott exclaimed, smacking a hand to his forehead with frustration. "You're not getting it!"

"I think I'm getting it just fine," Stiles snapped back, voice teetering on cruelty now. "I'm the weakest link, right? You're just watching out for me, since I'm so _fucking_ incompetent!" Stiles spat and slammed a fist to his chest. "Command me, oh great alpha!"

Scott looked as though he'd been slapped.

Stiles was instantly filled with regret. It hurt more than all the aches he'd endured throughout the day combined. A storm of emotions swirled around in Scott's brown eyes and Stiles found himself unable to look away. His eyes burned as his vision blurred.

"... Scott," he said, voice thick, "I'm sorry-"

"Scott!"

Stiles flinched, startled by the sudden call, and turned around. He knew that voice. Hadn't heard it in a long time, but he'd never forget that voice. Derek Hale emerged from the park, jogging towards them with a distressed frown. Scott gaped at the older male.

"Derek?" They grabbed each other's fists in a peculiar kind of handshake that reminded Stiles of a warrior's greeting. Once the two released each other, Derek nodded at Stiles and gave him a lingering, warm look. Stiles swallowed and managed to nod back, overwhelmed by the sudden reunion.

"I know this is sudden," said Derek in a rushed manner. "But we need to get out of here. People are looking for you."

"Huh?" Scott held his hands up. "Slow down - what are you talking about?"

"People!" Derek repeated, frustrated now. "Alphas. A whole pack. I've been following them for nearly two weeks. They seem to be after you and I don't know why. I'm betting it's not to join your fan club, though. So we need to get out of here and gather the rest of your pack."

"Do you think they want to make him join their pack?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know," Derek said, scowl deepening, "but the thought has occurred to me. Wouldn't be the first time an alpha pack wanted Scott to join in. They seem to have been looking for you," he said and turned back to Scott.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, they were talking about it. I overheard them. Seem to be using some pretty unorthodox methods, too," he said with a scoff. "One of them was talking about how she used _stones_ to pinpoint your location."

"But that's-"

"I know," Derek sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes. "But they _did_ find you, so it's pointless to argue over the authenticity. They're here, Scott."

"Alright, let me make a quick phone call," Scott said as he pulled out his cell phone. Stiles watched as Scott quickly dialed Liam's number and brought the phone to his ear, only to freeze as he looked back up. His eyes widened and irises instantly burned red as he gazed past Stiles shoulder.

Stiles felt a shiver run up his spine as he slowly turned around. A small group of people stood on the other side of the road, watching them intently. Three men and two women, all with glowing crimson eyes. One of the male alphas clasped his hands together and smirked, sending Derek a soft nod.

"Thanks for leading us here, omega. It would've taken us several days to find him on our own."

"Good dog," another male drawled with a mocking snicker.

Stiles threw a fearful glance at Derek, who looked completely horrified as the realization struck him. He hadn't known, Stiles concluded and was immediately filled with sympathy for Derek. The alphas had been using Derek to track Scott down all along.

"What the hell do you want from me?" Scott growled, sharp canines sticking out from his upper lip. The group chuckled softly amongst themselves.

"You?" The man quirked a contemptuous eyebrow at Scott. "We don't want anything from _you_."

"It's _him_ we're after," one of the females chirped and extended a well-manicured finger.

Stiles swallowed and took a step back. The female alpha was pointing directly at him.

TBC.

* * *

So, I'm actually a bit unsure of whether or not Derek is actually an omega. We all know that he's "evolved", which is super badass and all, but he also doesn't belong to a pack right now (as far as we know) and that makes him an omega regardless of his evolved wolf-powers, right? (Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.)

Sorry for the delay. I was actually planning to update last week, but work has been kicking my ass. Chapter 3 is already in the making. Hope you're enjoying this story so far. Again, I'd love some feedback. It's been a while since I wrote fan fiction, so I'm painfully aware that I may be a bit rusty. Don't be afraid to lay it on me. ;)

\- Caeva


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